Page 62 of Forbidden Romeo

Because seriously, what are the odds of something like this happening? The whiplash of feelings would be enough to blindside anyone, and Lord knows I have no idea where I stand with her anymore.

Yet a selfish part of me is comforted by the fact I don’t have to deal with this alone anymore. At least now, whatever happens, we’ll both be on the same page.

If she never wants to see me again after this, then I will have to deal with that. But for now, it’s in both our self-interests to work together. And that provides me with no shortage of comfort, even under the circumstances.

Finally, Roisin’s taxi pulls into West 65th Street, and I’m forced to abandon my bike and continue my mission on foot.

There are kids of all different artistic persuasions lingering by the entrance, and I can only pray that I blend in on some level. Maybe I look like a drummer or something, I don’t know.

I keep a keen eye on Roisin as she exits the cab when finally, another figure catches my attention.

The last time I saw Douglas, it was on TV, and the camera certainly did him a favor or two. Nonetheless, he approaches Roisin warmly and offers to take one of her bags. As she unloads her suitcase, Douglas glances around cautiously until his eyes meet mine.

He offers me a friendly smile, and I nod in return.

Roisin is safe. My duty here is done.

I don’t linger a moment longer and disappear into the crowds of New York City.

Chapter Sixteen

Aimee

I think I must have screamed myself hoarse, cursing out Jack Duffy.

Jack fucking Duffy.

All this time, I’d been doing everything I possibly could to stay away from the Irish families. Then, not only did I lead them straight to us, but I went and slept with Padraic Duffy’s bastard son.

I wrack my brain, trying to place him in the memories I spent so long trying to repress. I remember once seeing him from a distance at a gala. Back then, he was nothing more than skin, bones, and a mop of dark hair that Connor told me to stay away from. I couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.

How was I supposed to know that my Jack, or at least the guy I had been kinda dating, was that same boy?

A shiver runs down my spine when I think about what Connor might say now. His vendetta against the Duffy boys was always at the forefront of his mind. But for him to actually kill one, in cold blood…

What happened to my brother in the years we were away?

The last time I saw him, I’d been begging for his help. Begging for him to come with us to LA. But Connor’s place has always been in New York. It didn’t matter how bad things got with my father, how many awful things Caleb Maguire did to his family, to Roisin… Connor was never going to give that up.

He’d been making plans for the Maguires well before my father died, and I was an idiot to think that he might have let the family waste away. That without my father here, Roisin and I would be safe to come back to New York.

The last I heard from him was the invitation to my father’s funeral. I don’t know how he got our address, but I will never forget the day that small envelope arrived through our door. Roisin celebrated, of course—but her only memories were of the man who would encourage her to take the drugs he was supposed to sell.

But I still remember what he was like when my mother was still alive. It doesn’t make everything he did afterward okay, nor is my mother’s death a valid excuse for his behavior. Logically I know that. Which is why it surprised me so much that I truly grieved for his loss.

Grief. That’s the emotion I’m feeling right now too. Grief for my sister, who doesn’t know what the hell we’ve walked into by coming here. Grief that if she’s caught, her life will be snatched away from her again after we spent so long trying to rebuild.

Grief that I couldn’t have just one nicenormalthing. That after everything, the universe still doesn’t believe I deserve it.

Fuck this.

I’ve played it safe; I’ve kept my cool. I did everything I could to protect my sister—now, whether or not Jack makes good on his promise to keep her safe, I need to protect myself.

I stalk over to the kitchen and start pulling out drawers. This is the home of a mobster; if there aren’t any concealed weapons somewhere, I’d be very surprised. However, after a few minutes of searching, all I can find is a serrated cooking knife that at least looks sharp enough to do some damage.

My next stop is the bedroom. I don’t know why I’m so surprised to discover this apartment only has one bedroom, but I suppose Jack doesn’t really strike me as the kind of guy to entertain.

I can’t say I love the industrial look as a design choice in usual circumstances, but Jack’s room has a certain charm that couldn’t be pulled off without the exposed-brick walls or the iron beams supporting the ceiling. His bed is built into the foundation of the room, and there are a dozen built-in lights that cast a warm glow.

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